


Sequels Don’t Always Live up to Expectations

by CallousHeartz



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: M/M, Memories, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, a lot of thoughts, hey why don’t i write some jetpoison, i was feeling experimental and i was like, perhaps there are multiple danger days universes, so this takes place on an entirely separate timeline to the rest of my oneshots but dhdjdjd hey, thoughts, well to some extent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: Jet has regrets. This isn’t one of them.





	Sequels Don’t Always Live up to Expectations

Jet can vaguely recall spewing some sugary bullshit about how "sequels don't always live up to expectations,"  
and he regrets that a lot. 

He hates that those words came out of his mouth, even though only one person besides himself heard.

And he doesn't like to give the memory of that cringeworthy verbal vomit much thought, because it makes him want to assemble a time machine, set it for two months prior, and kick past Jet in both the crotch and mouth in one go.

That scenario's not possible for two reasons: the first being that sure, Jet's kind of a pro when it comes to mechanics (better than Ghoul, anyway, but who the fuck isn't?) but he’s not _that_ much of a pro, and the second being, Jet's not sure he could kick with both feet at once without falling flat on his ass and humiliating himself in front of his humiliating self, like a humiliating memory within a humiliating memory. 

That's some _Inception_ shit right there - Jet's not ready to get caught up in it.

But he doesn't regret anything else that happened that morning.

It all happened pretty quickly, and the details, the _feelings_ didn't stick - he knows exactly how he felt in the aftermath (especially after he'd spat out that fucking line, _goddamnit, past Jet_ ) and if he thinks hard enough, he can feel almost exactly like he did seconds before.

Almost. 

But he can't remember for shit how it felt in that moment, and that's what irks him whenever he thinks back on it.

It was another morning spent fixing up the old transmitter the gang had found.

Another of many fucking mornings, because it probably wasn't a job built for one person - but Ghoul had a habit of blowing shit up, and last time Jet had asked Kobra to lend a hand, he'd sat there gushing about his boyfriend and his dimples and how he'd dusted not one, not two, but _almost_ one-and-a-half dracs in a single shot, and not done very much else the whole time.

Sure, sweet and all that - or it would've been if Jet didn't know that Kobra's dreamboy was the gang's mate Cola, who wrote poetry about dining room tables, for fuck's sake, and probably hadn't stepped into a shower since he was thirteen.

Anyway! 

That morning, Jet had been hunched over the contraption, prodding it with assorted tools and mumbling all sorts of wordy technical bullshit to himself for at least an hour when the crew's leader dropped by.

Poison never announced his presence - sort of just stood there with his arms folded, resting his hip on the door frame until he was acknowledged. 

Jet set the screwdriver down on the countertop.

"It's _looking_ a hell of lot better, for one thing," He kept his eyes on the semi-fixed transmitter as he spoke.

He didn't look over at Poison.  
He avoided eye contact at all costs - that's kind of uncharacteristic, but he had his reasons on this occasion.

"Still a long way to go before this baby's up and running though," he mumbled. 

He picked up the screwdriver again and started jabbing redundantly at the transmitter, before putting it down a second time,

 _This is fucking bullshit_ , he thought, _I'm making this blatant enough_.

He took a deep breath, scratched at the back of his neck with a shaky hand, and turned to the doorway.

"You can erm... check it out if you want, ain't much different though," 

He was pleasantly taken aback by how steady his own voice was, and would've probably fist bumped himself if he didn't want to risk looking weird.

And right then? He really didn't want to risk looking weird.

"Sure, but I can't stick around," Poison replied, "Shit needs clearin' over in Zone Five, ‘pparently the fuckers over there need me ASAP - false alarm  
C/R/O/W sightings or some shit probably, the usual,"

He let himself in and slid up onto the counter so he was beside the transmitter, swinging his legs (with their probably-way-too-tight-for-this-heat skinny jeans) back and forth like a bored kid. 

Jet opened his mouth and closed it again, then he mentally kicked himself up the ass, stood up from his seat, nearly sat down again, and didn't. 

He walked over to Poison and cleared his throat, 

"Right, essentially, this was the main issue," He explained. 

He gestured to the transmitter, some bit of it - he wasn't quite sure which bit, but it didn't matter much, because he wasn't looking at it, and Poison wasn't looking at it, either.

 _Man, his fucking eyes_ , Jet thought. 

Poison has got pretty cool eyes - stony serious and icy blue, and they’re dangerous eyes when he wants them to be (that probably comes with leading a rebellion) but other times, they're just, well… _fascinating_.

"But yeah, I screwed about with that for a bit," Jet continued, this time actually turning to look at the transmitter, "I think it's good now. It's good now,"

He knew he wasn't talking in his usual mechanic-who-knows-his-shit sort of way, and Poison quickly caught on.

"It's good now?" He teased, smirking.

"Yeah," Jet replied- he was grinning like a bashful Cheshire Cat, and nearly choked on his own breath in the least dignified manner when Poison reached forward to drape one arm around his neck, his weirdly cold fingertips grazing the skin.

And oh boy, Jet had no idea when they’d gotten this close, he was hardly aware of moving from his spot, but his oil-stained hands were suddenly latched onto Poison's waist, gripping the fabric of his black tank top like the world's fate depended on it, and yeah, this right here? 

This was was the point of no return. 

In all honesty, it'd been a while since Jet’s mouth had been anywhere near someone else’s, and he felt like he should've been a little apprehensive.

But it was so short and sweet - the space between their lips gone and forgotten for just a second or two - and then it was over so fast that Jet had no chance to fret over how he may or may not be screwing it up and how it could be his only chance.

 _It was sorta nice though_ , he thought after. 

He stepped back and scraped a hand through his curls, still unable to wipe that smile off his face, staring at his shoes.

"Right, I gotta get over to Five now," Poison slipped off the countertop with ease, flicking his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head, "They're probably shittin' their pants without me.”

Any other time, Jet would’ve snorted at the way the leader’s ego practically punctuated his sentence.

"Yeah, I should... get back too," Jet gestured vaguely to the transmitter without looking up.

"Looks like it's getting somewhere though," Poison said, "And there ain't really a deadline for it, just get it done soon as you can, and I'll see if we can reach WKIL with it. That's a priority,"

Jet hummed in agreement.

He wasn't really in a working sort of mindset, but he was grateful to be sitting down again.

"Oh, and Poison?" He called out suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"We... we don't gotta tell anyone,”

Poison nodded, before sauntering off to the trans am.

There are two parts of that story Jet skips over in his head: the part later that day when they finally decide to sit down and have a grown-up chat, and Jet isn't thinking for a moment and drops that fucking cringeworthy analogy which actually makes him _shudder_ to think about, _so he's not gonna,_ and also the part straight after, when he silently thanks the Phoenix Witch for not letting him fall backwards into a table, get a hard on, or accidently punch himself in the face right at that moment.

But he doesn't regret what happened.  
Like, at all.


End file.
